


Cinnamon

by Taste_is_Sweet



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Omega Steve Rogers, Secret Santa, Star Spangled Secret Santa (Marvel), Steve Rogers Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:07:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28038174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/pseuds/Taste_is_Sweet
Summary: "You know me, Bucky," Steve said. "I'm your Omega. I've loved you my whole life."
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov
Comments: 42
Kudos: 406
Collections: Star Spangled Secret Santa 2020





	Cinnamon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marvellingyou (tourmalinex)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tourmalinex/gifts).



> Thank you so much, marvellingyou, for giving me this fantastic opportunity to make my very first moodboard(!) AND to write my very first A/B/O fic! I may have been a bit overexcited, because the fic ended up a tad longer than a drabble. Like, ~5,000 words longer. Oops. xD
> 
> I regret nothing.
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this, marvellingyou! I tried to give you everything you asked for. ♥
> 
> (I will thank my lovely and talented beta after the reveal.)

* * *

**For fucks sake check your email!!!** the text said, complete with a string of tiny, furious faces. It was dated from three days earlier, buried under all the other texts—mostly get well soon wishes from his work colleagues and Bucky's family—that Steve hadn't read while he was sick.

Sick _again._ Steve felt bad about ignoring everyone, but he'd been down with the flu this time; too miserable and feverish to do more than stare at the ceiling and sleep. When he'd finally felt alive enough to bundle up and totter to his favorite coffee shop, he hadn't checked his phone before he left. He'd told himself he was going to read all his ignored messages and reconnect with the world over a nice cup of coffee.

Except, Steve had arrived at the coffee shop, opened the door, and then turned right around and walked away. Because they were baking cinnamon buns, and the rich, warm scent of it had nearly made him burst into tears.

Ten minutes later, and he was still standing on the sidewalk with his eyes burning and throat aching from trying not to cry. Over cinnamon buns, of all the stupid fucking things. His grief for Bucky still blindsided him sometimes. Bucky was dead. He'd gone off with his partner on a mission for S.H.I.E.L.D., and only Natasha had returned. That was the way things went, sometimes. Bucky had known when he signed up that any mission could be his last. Steve had known that when he asked Bucky to be his mate. What Bucky did—had done—was incredibly important for the security of the U.S. Sometimes the entire world. Steve would have been there with him, if his body hadn't been so fragile. He'd been so proud of Bucky for stepping in where Steve wanted to, but couldn't.

And now Bucky was gone.

Steve was… He'd accepted it. He was dealing. He didn't want to move on and doubted he ever would, but he was dealing. He'd started to think he might even, eventually, be okay. 

But the sense memory of how his Alpha smelled could still hit him like a punch to the gut. And Bucky smelled deliciously like cinnamon. Even Natasha said she'd had to avoid anything cinnamon for a long time after Bucky died. And to her he'd smelled like Red Hots: nice enough but just a bit too sweet.

Then again, Natasha smelled like anise to Steve, but like strong licorice to Bucky. They used to laugh about how they'd been paired up because they smelled like candy. Apparently S.H.I.E.L.D. agents really _were_ paired up by whether they liked each other's scents, since that indicated compatible personalities. Bucky had thought of Natasha as a Sister-Alpha, and after he'd died Steve had appreciated Natasha's presence more than he could articulate.

Steve smelled like plain-old vanilla, but Bucky had always loved it. He'd joked that together they smelled like cinnamon buns.

Fucking cinnamon buns. Steve could barely stand the idea of them anymore.

He moved that much further out of the way of the morning’s growing pedestrian traffic, then took off his glasses long enough to thumb the tears out of his eyes. He opened his phone again, since it'd gone dark while he was getting his shit together, then stared at the number. He didn't recognize it, but he was pretty sure it was Natasha who'd texted him. For someone so opaque and controlled on the surface, she sure loved her emojis and exclamation points. Steve knew enough about what she and Bucky did—had done—together to know they sometimes needed burner phones. Neither of them had contacted him while on a mission before, though. Obviously whatever Natasha had emailed him was important. Three exclamation-points and a swearword kind of important.

Steve glanced around, then put his phone into his coat pocket, deciding that a three-exclamation-point email probably wasn't something he should be reading in public. And staying outside in the still-cold early spring probably wasn't doing his healing body any favors. Cold aggravated his asthma anyway, and damp weather always made his joints ache.

He'd make himself coffee and read the email when he got home. Might as well not postpone what was likely bad news when the day had already lost its promise.

* * *

Only someone else must have gone to the same coffee shop and brought home some fucking cinnamon buns. Because the scent of cinnamon, faint but warm, hovered in the foyer of his building and then followed him up the stairs. Steve stomped up the creaky staircase, teeth clenched as he waited for the damn smell to dissipate and finally leave him in peace. But it didn't.

If anything, it got stronger, heavier, until it was as undeniable as another presence. Steve didn't even realize he'd stopped resenting it and was actively seeking it out, letting the rich heat of it fill his nostrils and lungs like air, until he was right outside his apartment, gulping in the scent. And then what he was doing finally worked its way past his hindbrain and he stopped dead, heart pounding like it used to before the operation.

He blinked, then scrambled for his keys, swearing at himself for nearly dropping them from his shaking fingers. But the door was already unlocked. It swung open as soon as he touched the handle.

His apartment was redolent with the smell of warm cinnamon. Nothing in the entranceway of his apartment, or what he could see of the kitchen or living room looked out of place. But that was Bucky's scent. Steve would recognize it anywhere in the world.

"Bucky! _Bucky!_ " Steve galloped into his apartment, barely sparing enough presence of mind to close the door behind him. His heart sounded like a freight train in his ears, adrenaline constricting his lungs. His emergency asthma inhaler was in the breast pocket of his coat. He left it there, left on his coat and sneakers as he bolted down the short hallway to the bedroom that had never stopped being theirs.

The door was closed. Steve had left it open. He turned the knob with both hands, trembling too much to manage with one. He shoved the door open and the immediate emotional rush of _home desire comfort belonging lovelovelove_ from the cinnamon scent nearly drove him to his knees. Only there was no one in the room. Nobody, and Steve's heart convulsed and shattered in his chest until he realized Bucky's quilt, which Steve had shoved aside that morning, had been pulled off the far side of the bed and onto the floor.

"Bucky!" Steve ran the short distance to the corner of the bed, and stopped.

Bucky was packed up in the space between the side of the bed and the wall. The end table that used to be there was right next to the bed, everything on it still perfectly in place. Bucky had carefully moved it to make more room. His Alpha was always considerate.

Bucky was buried in the quilt; had wrapped it so tightly around himself all Steve could see was wide, frightened eyes the color of storm clouds, and a mess of too long brown hair.

"Bucky! Oh, my God. Bucky! I thought you were dead!" Steve ran the rest of the distance to him, about to throw himself to his knees in front of his beloved Alpha. Close enough to touch—

Bucky growled.

Steve froze, then his Omega lizard brain took over completely and he scrambled backwards. He tripped over his own feet and sat hard on the floor. His glasses fell crooked across his face until Steve grabbed them and shoved them on again. He hesitated, his Omega instinct to protect himself from a threatening Alpha warring with the need to comfort his mate. "Bucky?"

Bucky barred his teeth again, but all he did was shove himself more tightly into the corner. He was shaking, Steve realized. And now he was this close, another realization hit: Steve was so used to the constant, lowkey odor of his own body's stress and pain he hadn't registered how much stronger the smell was, or how the flavor of it on the back of his tongue was sharper, more sour. He hadn't recognized it because it wasn't what he associated with Bucky's stress and pain smell. Bucky got injured, he got sick, then he healed. This stress and pain scent was like Steve's: pervasive and constant. It'd been going on for a long time.

He'd thought Bucky was dead for five years.

"Bucky?" Steve tried again. He heaved himself up to his knees, trying to inch closer. He was hot in his coat but felt chilled to his soul. "It's me. It's Steve." His throat closed over the words _do you recognize me?_ because Bucky had _growled_ at him as if he _didn't,_ and _what the hell had happened to him?_

The stress and adrenaline tilted the brittle equilibrium of Steve’s lungs. He wheezed, then coughed, groping for his inhaler. He coughed again, started gasping. He pulled too hard on the inhaler and it popped out of his pocket. He fumbled it and it dropped through his boney, shaking fingers.

 _Damn, damn, damn._ He wanted to help _Bucky,_ but now he was stuck trying to breathe long enough to scoop his fucking inhaler off the floor. He didn't even see Bucky moving, so he wheezed in startlement when Bucky rolled onto his knees and darted forward, left side still covered in his bundle. He picked up the inhaler, then held it against Steve's chest, waiting for Steve to take it. He was as gentle as Steve remembered, even wild-eyed, trembling and reeking of fear. Up close his face was splotchy with bruising.

Bucky threw himself backwards and rewrapped himself completely in the blanket before Steve could so much as reach for him.

Steve used his inhaler, watching Bucky the whole time. Bucky's eyes flicked over Steve, but he said nothing. He seemed to relax a tiny bit when Steve took a few deeps breaths. Steve took one more hit from the inhaler to be safe, then put it on the windowsill.

"Bucky?" Steve turned slowly on his knees. "It's me. It's Steve. I'm not going to hurt you." He eased off his coat, forcing himself to keep moving slowly despite the thudding of his heart. "I thought you were dead. They, uh…they said you died. Five years ago. I don't…" His breath hitched on a sob and he slapped his hand over his mouth when Bucky's eyes widened at the noise. "I'm okay," he said quickly. "I'm just…" He made a sound nowhere close to a laugh. "I'm really glad to see you." He slowly took his phone out of his pocket and turned it off, then put it on the windowsill next to the inhaler. He had a good idea what Natasha's email was about now, but the last thing he wanted was someone calling him when Bucky was already so afraid.

Steve had never heard Bucky growl in his life. Outside of a T.V. drama, he couldn't remember the last time he'd heard an Alpha growl at all. A growling Alpha was a person who'd been pushed so far beyond their endurance they'd gone animalistic to protect themselves. It was the kind of thing that happened on the battlefield and during natural disasters. It was why Alphas were rarely found in leadership positions: Feral Alphas were unpredictable, prone to attack. It made them dangerous.

"Oh, God, Bucky. What happened to you?" Steve whispered. "It's me, Steve," he said again. "Your Omega. You, you helped with my inhaler, so…" Steve swallowed. "Do you know me, Bucky?"

Bucky watched him. He didn't answer. Maybe he couldn't.

Steve took a shuddering breath. There was so much sour stress scent in the air here, so near to Bucky, it was difficult to find the cinnamon scent underneath it. Maybe Bucky couldn't smell him, either? Steve rolled his coat into a cylinder to make it easier to handle, then pushed it closer to Bucky across the floor. "Here. Maybe…maybe you'll recognize my scent?"

He held his breath as Bucky reached for it, still only using his right arm. Bucky kept his eyes on Steve the entire time, barely glancing down long enough to snag the coat's collar. His hand was wrapped in an old bandage, stained and spattered with blood. He didn't move like he was in pain, but he smelled like he was in pain, and there was no way an injury like that couldn't hurt. Steve wondered what other wounds might be hidden under the quilt. Where had Bucky been all this time?

God in heaven, what had happened to him?

Bucky warily pulled the coat back to him and lifted it to his nose, turning it to the still-warm side that had been against Steve's body. 

Bucky sniffed the coat, still watching Steve like he was waiting to be attacked. Then his eyes widened again. He all but shoved his face into the coat, mouth open, taking heaving gulps of the scent. He made a noise that sounded both like relief and pain, moving the blanket just enough to clutch the coat to him. Steve thought he caught a glimpse of metal when Bucky's left hand was visible for a moment, but he wasn't sure. It was hard to tell what might have been a limb among all the buckles and fasteners of his shirt. If that was even a shirt. It looked like some kind of Kevlar armor. 

Bucky spent a long time hugging the coat with his nose buried in it, breathing nosily. Steve waited, hope like a sharp, aching thing in his heart. He was crying again, tears of happiness and fear. 

"You know me, Bucky," he said. "I'm your Omega. I've loved you my whole life."

Bucky looked up. There were tears in his eyes too. "Steve," he said. His voice sounded rough and unused, soft with amazement. "You're Steve. You..." He looked around the room like he was seeing it for the first time. "I was trying…" He looked at Steve again. "You smell like home. Is this…Is this home? I…I'm Bucky?"

Steve couldn't stop the cry that punched its way out of his throat. He crawled the rest of the way to Bucky, too desperate to get to him to take the time to stand. "Yes!" Steve tried not to sob. "Yes. You're Bucky. You're Bucky. My Alpha."

But when he reached for him, Bucky flinched back. 

Steve stopped, still on his hands and knees, balanced awkwardly with one hand out. "Bucky? What's wrong?" _Everything,_ his brain supplied unhelpfully. The only thing _right_ here was Bucky being alive, and even that made no sense, given everything Steve knew.

Bucky didn't growl again, thank God, but he looked afraid. He held the coat like a shield.

Steve pulled back onto his knees, heartbroken. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said again, horrified at the idea Bucky might even think he could. "You're my Alpha. My _mate._ Here." He scrambled at the ball chain around his neck, so much a part of him he'd forgotten he was wearing it. "Sorry! Sorry," he said immediately when Bucky startled at the movement. "But, I can show you. Just a sec. Just gimme a sec." He pulled the chain over his head, then let it pool around the pendant cupped in his palm. "Here. Look." 

It was a ring: a wide platinum band, too large to fit even his thumb, with the simple design of a sun on it. "This is yours." Steve held it out to him. "You always left it at home when you went on missions." He lifted his left hand, palm facing in so his own, smaller ring was visible. It's design was a crescent moon. "This one is mine." He'd never taken it off.

Bucky tentatively picked up the ring in Steve's palm, examining it with the chain trailing. "Sun," he said softly, like he was trying to find a memory.

"Yeah, yeah, that's right." Steve nodded eagerly but kept his voice quiet. "I chose it for you. Because…" He swallowed. Even with Bucky right here, the grief was raw and sharp. "Because you're my sun. My center." He didn't say, _my life would be cold and dark without you,_ because it was true and he'd already lived that. He smiled wetly instead. "You make my days bright and warm." He wanted to touch that beloved face so badly his fingers ached with it. But he remembered Bucky's flinch and kept his hand where it was, showing his ring. "You chose this one for me," he said, even more quietly. "The moon." Steve's voice went thin, threatening to crack. He swallowed again. "Because you said I was your light in the darkness. And…and…" He had to stop and breathe to hold back a new wave of tears.

"You will always guide me home," Bucky finished for him, haltingly.

Steve looked at him in wonder. "Yes," he said, breathless. "Yes, that's it. Those are the words. Bucky? Do-do you remember me?"

Bucky nodded jerkily, biting his lip. "You smell like home," he repeated. He slowly moved his left hand out from the pile of quilt to take the ring from his right. His hand was metal. No, his entire _arm_ was metal: segmented and silver grey like armor. His leather shirt was sleeveless on that side, so Steve could see all of it. Like it was supposed to be on display.

Steve choked back the sound of shock and horror he wanted to make, determined not to scare Bucky again. He watched as Bucky yanked the chain so it snapped, freeing the ring, then put the chain carefully on the night table. He hesitated, looking at both his hands, then slipped the ring onto his right hand. He made a fist, staring at the ring as if it might disappear.

"You never liked taking it off," Steve said.

Bucky nodded distantly, then looked up at Steve and reached out with his right hand, painstakingly slowly, as if expecting to be slapped away.

Steve took his wrist as gently as he'd ever touched anything in his life, and put Bucky's damp, trembling palm to his cheek. "You're home, Bucky," he whispered. "You came home to me."

"She said…" Bucky grimaced, like he was fighting for the words. "The…the licorice Alpha?" He relaxed a little when Steve nodded eagerly. He caressed Steve's cheek with his thumb, seemingly unaware he was doing it. It made the bandage wrapped around his hand tickle Steve's face a bit. "We fought. On the bridge, and…and she said she knew me. She told me to, to find you. In Brooklyn. She said if I went to Brooklyn I could go home."

"Natasha," Steve told him, reaching under his glasses to wipe his eyes. "Her name is Natasha." He was so grateful to his Sister-Alpha his heart hurt with it. And then the word "fight" registered and his eyed widened in alarm. "You fought her? Is she okay?"

Bucky hadn't recognized Natasha either. He'd fought his _Sister-Alpha._ "What did they do to you?" Steve asked, helpless. "Oh, God, Bucky. Who did this? What did they do to you?"

"I don't remember," Bucky said miserably. "I'm sorry. I didn't…I didn't want to hurt her!"

"Oh, no," Steve whispered. Natasha had always been able to take Bucky down in a fair fight, but Steve had no idea what his alien, terrifying metal arm could do. And Bucky was the better shot. "Is she…" He clenched his teeth, unable to force himself to say, _is she dead?_ "Is she okay?" he asked again.

"I don't know," Bucky said, stricken. "She ran. I think, I think I broke her arm. But, she ran away. They told me to follow her, but I didn't. I came to find you. Like she told me."

"Oh, thank God." Steve exhaled, deflating in bone-deep relief. "Thank you. She's your friend."

"I didn't want to hurt her. She smelled good."

Steve nodded. "You're best friends." His smirk was a sob with a flutter of humor in it. "I'm pretty sure she tried to tell me you were coming." He turned his head to kiss Bucky's palm, heedless of the bandage. "I'm so happy you came back to me."

"I could smell you," Bucky said. He looked like he wasn't quite sure what he was saying. "You guided me home."

Steve nodded mutely, tears he could no longer control streaming down his cheeks. His glasses were misting so he took them off and added them to them to the collection on the windowsill. "Can I touch you?" he managed. "I promise I won't hurt you. I would never hurt you."

Bucky looked uncertain, but he nodded.

Steve smiled through his tears. He wanted to throw himself into Bucky's arms—even the incomprehensible metal one—but he held back. Instead, he slowly lowered Bucky's hand from his face, then shuffled closer on his knees until they were almost chest to chest, only impeded by his coat, which Bucky still held in front of him. Steve wrapped his hand around it. "May I move this?" He waited until Bucky nodded, then tossed it on the bed.

Steve could feel Bucky's body heat, smell his sweat and the stress-soured cinnamon. He moved just as slowly as he cupped Bucky's face in his hands. Bucky's cheekbones were more prominent than Steve remembered. "I love you," he said. "I love you so much. I can't believe you came back."

"My Omega." Bucky said it like he wasn't sure it was real. He reached up with his right hand, running the pads of his fingers over Steve's face. There were new callouses on Bucky's fingertips.

"Yours," Steve agreed. "Always."

Bucky leaned forward. He lifted his left hand to Steve, then stopped abruptly when he realized what he was doing. He whipped the hand down, fisting it at his side.

"It's okay," Steve said. "I know you won't hurt me. You never have."

"I don't remember," Bucky said, sounding lost.

Steve's heart broke again, so he did the only thing he could think of: He slowly wrapped his fingers around Bucky's left hand and put it to his chest, holding it over his heart. It felt as unyielding as any metal, but as warm as Bucky's skin. "You won't hurt me," he said, with all the conviction he felt. He leaned in when Bucky didn't move, just stared at his left hand pressed to Steve's heart. Bucky's gaze immediately flicked back to Steve's face, but he yielded, bending his arm, and then moving it when Steve let go his wrist to cup his face again.

"May I kiss you, Bucky?" Steve asked.

Bucky looked like he was trying to remember what the word meant, but he nodded.

Steve smiled, ruthlessly holding back yet more tears. He pressed his lips to Bucky's. They were just as plush as he remembered, and he licked softly at the seam of Bucky's mouth. He sighed gratefully when Bucky opened to him, as if by instinct. Steve deepened the kiss, moving slowly, trying not to overwhelm Bucky with his yearning.

Bucky made a tiny, whining noise of shock and need, then moved his hands to Steve's head, threading his fingers through Steve's hair. Bucky's metal hand felt strangely solid, but didn't hurt. It felt good. All of it felt good. The warm cinnamon of Bucky's scent grew heavier, peppered with the musk of arousal.

Steve echoed the noise in visceral agreement, pressing closer, trying to worm his hands under the blanket and around Bucky's back. But the buckles on Bucky's armor bit painfully into his chest.

Steve grunted in discomfort and Bucky stiffened and stopped immediately, eyes huge with horror.

"No, no, it's okay. You didn't hurt me!" Steve said quickly. "It's okay," he repeated, using his hands on the sides of Bucky's face to force him to keep eye contact. "You didn't hurt me. You didn't do anything wrong. But the buckles on your shirt are digging into me. Is it okay if I take it off?"

Bucky paused, considering, then grabbed the collar of his shirt, jerked his hands apart and ripped it right off, buckles and all.

"Holy shit!" Steve exclaimed, then, "It's okay. It's fine!" when Bucky looked anxious. "It's just…how did you do that?"

Bucky blinked at him, confused. "I pulled?"

"You sure did," Steve murmured. Steve let it go, adding it to the pile of _who did this to him? And what did they do?_ that he hoped to hell Natasha would be able to explain. "It's fine. Please don't worry." He smiled, smoothing over Bucky's parted lower lip with his thumb. "It just means I get to learn about you all over again."

Bucky didn't look convinced that was a good thing, but he just worked the remains of the armored shirt off his arms, then tore off the much more normal black shirt underneath. He crumpled both of them into a wad of ripped cloth and buckles, then tossed it onto the bed.

Bucky's torso was larger than Steve remembered. Bucky had always been strong, but lean. Now, though, he was bulked with muscle. His body was also riddled with bruises and cuts in different stages of healing, just like his face. But his left shoulder was entirely metal, like the rest of his arm. The place where it had somehow been attached was ringed with scars. Each one looked painful and deep.

"Oh, Bucky," Steve breathed, reaching automatically to trace them. "God, I'm so sorry."

Bucky glanced at his shoulder, eyes bleak. "I didn't want it."

Steve nodded. "Yeah," he said, rough. "I bet you didn't." He took a breath, composing himself, then pulled his own long-sleeved shirt over his head. He put it on the bed as well, then waited, strangely anxious, as Bucky looked his fill, studying Steve's narrow bird-chest as if he'd never seen him before.

"Steve," Bucky said. He fitted his right hand around the side of Steve's chest, cupping it easily. His palm felt like a brand, heating Steve all the way to his heart.

"You, uh, loved how we fit together," Steve said, self-conscious like he hadn't been since they'd first been naked with each other. "I know I'm small," he added, then hated the flicker of shame he felt. Bucky had never, ever made him feel anything less than perfect.

"So pretty," Bucky murmured. He ran his palm up and down Steve's side, bandage rasping, then along his chest to trace Steve's collarbones. His fingers slid over the bump of Steve's bonding gland, tracing the scar his teeth had left.

Steve gasped and arched with the sudden flare of desire, instinctively tilting his head to expose the side of his neck.

Bucky froze again.

"I'm okay! It doesn't hurt. It surprised me, that's all," Steve said. He moved Bucky's hand back over the gland, pressing his fingers to the small roundness, sighing in pleasure. "It feels good. I like it."

Bucky ran his fingers tentatively over the gland, eyes intent on Steve's reaction.

Steve shuddered, unconsciously thrusting his hips. He was hard already, just from the kiss and Bucky's hands on him; damp in his underwear. "That's good. So good." His eyes were closed so he groped blindly for Bucky, grunting in satisfaction when he got his hands on Bucky's chest. He immediately slid his closer hand up to Bucky's neck, searching out the larger bonding gland there. He was so grateful to feel the scar he'd left, and then even more gratified to hear Bucky's own sound of astonished pleasure when he pressed down.

"See?" Steve demanded breathlessly. "It’s good. It's so good." He was practically babbling, and when Bucky pressed a little harder, just like Steve was, Steve cried out again. "Oh, oh God. Kiss me. Please. Please. I need—"

Bucky groaned, then wrapped both his hands around Steve's waist and lifted him into his lap. It had never been difficult for Bucky to pick Steve up, but now the ease he did it with was shocking. Steve straddled Bucky's lap, crushing the quilt beneath his knees. Bucky's cock was hot and thick beneath the fabric of his pants. Steve thrust against him, moaning at the tiny bursts of pleasure hindered by too many layers of clothing.

Bucky cupped the back of Steve's head, tugging on his hair to make Steve tilt up his chin so their mouths could meet. It was his left hand, but so careful and gentle there was no pain at all. And Bucky's kisses felt like muscle memory, like five terrible years had never happened. The sweet spiciness of his scent held barely a hint of stress now, almost nothing but the drugging musk of rutting Alpha. Bucky ran his fingers over Steve's gland again, rubbing small circles the way Steve loved. Steve moaned in pleasure, rolling his hips again and again, desperately chasing the delicious friction.

Steve couldn't help the startled yelp when Bucky pulled back from the kiss, only to replace his fingers on Steve's gland with his mouth. Bucky suckled hard, grazing the scar with his teeth.

Steve cried out, shuddering with the bolt of lust that sliced through him. He rocked harder against Bucky, then gave up with a groan of frustration and wormed his hand into Bucky's pants, grinning in triumph when his hand finally closed around the velveteen heat of Bucky's cock. 

Bucky sucked in a breath, metal hand tightening for a second in Steve's hair before he caught himself. Steve hissed at the unexpected pleasure/pain of it, then murmured, "It's okay. It didn't hurt," when Bucky jerked his head up, expression worried. That was the last thing Steve wanted, so he tightened his hand a little, deliberately stroked up and down Bucky's shaft, then pulled Bucky's head down to him to swallow his moan. 

Bucky was just as thick and long as Steve remembered, big even for an Alpha. His knot was heavily swollen, almost larger around than Steve's fist. Steve gripped it the way his body would if Bucky were inside him. He wanted that again so badly the emptiness there was like pain. But Steve was so close, and could feel and smell how close his Alpha was: too close to force himself to stop, even only long enough to get completely naked.

Instead he massaged Bucky's knot with one hand and moved his other back to Bucky's gland, rubbing it in counterpoint until Bucky couldn't concentrate enough to kiss him anymore, was just panting into Steve's mouth, right hand gripped almost tightly enough around Steve's waist to hurt.

When Bucky came it was nearly silent, nothing like the gleefully abandoned howls Steve remembered. This Bucky just shuddered and gasped for breath, expression open with pleasure and soft amazement.

He looked at Steve in wonder, then kissed him devouringly, pushing his leg between Steve's so Steve could ride Bucky's thigh. Steve whimpered in needy gratitude, thrusting mercilessly against the welcome friction. The second Bucky touched Steve's gland again, Steve threw his head back and came as hard as if he were going through his first heat.

Steve was still trembling through the aftershocks when Bucky lifted him with that uncanny strength, moving him so instead of straddling his lap Steve was nestled in it. Bucky wrapped him in his arms, holding him securely but not too tight. "Stevie," he said. There were tears in his voice. "Stevie. Stevie." He started sobbing, so hard Steve wasn't sure how Bucky could breathe.

"I'm here. I'm here, Buck. It's okay." Steve hugged him back, overwhelmed, clutching as hard as he dared while being mindful of Bucky’s injuries. He was crying again himself, holding on desperately to his self-control so he wouldn't start bawling. He didn’t want to upset Bucky.

But Steve had thought—he'd _known_ —Bucky was dead, that he would never be able to touch him, or hold him, or love him or hear Bucky call him _Stevie_ ever again. Suddenly having him back was the best thing that had ever happened to Steve, but it was a joy so big it ached. "I'm right here, Bucky,” he managed, voice shaking. “You're home. You're safe." 

Bucky just shook his head. He hunched down, folding his large frame like he was trying to envelop his Omega. "They took you away," he choked out. "They took you away from me. They took everything!"

Steve didn't know who "they" were, but he sure as hell hoped Natasha killed them. He held Bucky more tightly, cradling the back of his head. "I know. I know. They took you from me too. I thought you were dead. But I got you back. You came back. And you got me back too."

"My Omega," Bucky sobbed. "Stevie. My Stevie."

"I'm right here." Steve pulled back only enough to let Bucky see his face. "Alpha. I'm right here."

"I love you," Bucky said. "I know I do. I remember." He snuffled, breathing more calmly, then pulled the quilt off the floor and wrapped them both in it. Steve was surrounded by Bucky's warmth, and the scents of cinnamon and vanilla, mixed with the drifting remnants of spicy arousal. It felt like for the first time in five years he was finally able to breathe.

"I love you too," Steve said. It was like a miracle, being able to say the words to Bucky again.

Soon, all too soon, they’d have to move out of this little cocoon and face the world. He and Bucky both needed a shower, and food, and Steve wanted to make sure Bucky's injuries were really okay. And he definitely needed to read that email, even if he was sure he knew what it said. Hopefully Natasha had included a way to contact her. Hopefully she truly was all right. And hopefully she'd know what he and Bucky were supposed to do next.

But that could wait. Just a little while. Right now, it was enough to be snuggled with his Alpha, under the quilt that smelled like peppery cinnamon buns.

Warm and safe and home, right against Bucky's heart.

END


End file.
